The Absinthe on My Lips
by ladycobert
Summary: Cobert Holiday Fanfic Exchange 2014: Picture - Christmas Absinthe, Word - "Bestowed." Part of the Modern AU series, prequel to "Addicted to Love." (Won't be rated M until later chapters.)
1. An opportunity

_A/N: This is a prequel to _Addicted to Love, _taking place four years before that story. Thus it is in the same AU world, but it will concentrate more on Cobert rather than the others – although they will all appear at various times and to various degrees. This is also my Cobert Holiday Exchange contribution, and it will be updated throughout the month. Please enjoy!_

_P.S. The title is a line from "Birds of a Feather" by The Civil Wars, a song which goes with this fic beautifully._

* * *

><p>Thanksgiving Day<p>

They always spent Thanksgiving in New York.

And at about nine am Cora and her father – supplied with mimosas and French toast, wrapped up in blankets even while soaking up the warmth emanating from the heater close by – sat on their 5th Avenue apartment balcony. It was a tradition of theirs, ever since they'd gotten the apartment ten years before, when Cora begged her parents to watch the parade with her. She'd largely outgrown the parade, but she and Isidore still went outside to enjoy their father-daughter tradition. Martha, eschewing the "pleasure" of the parade, kindly made them breakfast every year before getting down to seeing about the Thanksgiving meal they'd eat in late afternoon. Harold, hating parades – and being a nuisance to his mother if in the kitchen with her – tended to sleep in until it was time for his own tradition with his father: watching football.

Cora sipped her drink and ate her French toast, chewing thoughtfully. Leaning back, finishing his breakfast first, Isidore stroked his mustache to make sure there were no crumbs and then got out a cigar, watching his daughter the whole time.

"Out with it," he said finally, puffing at his cigar to get it started, the smoke curling around their heads.

"What, Daddy?" Cora looked up from her plate, her brow furrowed.

Isidore tilted his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. "Clearly you've got something rolling around in that head of yours, Princess."

With his use of his pet name for her, she realized her father was concerned. Clearing her throat, Cora placed her fork carefully down on her plate, wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin, and looked him in the eye. "What would you think about my going overseas for six weeks?"

Taking a long drag from his cigar, Isidore's eyes followed his daughter as she took another sip of her mimosa, and he thought about his answer. He tapped the ash off the end of the cigar and met her expectant gaze. "I know it's about time for some sort of trip. You're twenty. And, although your brother seems to have no desire to leave the States – for any reason – I know you have different interests from Harold." He reached a hand over to pat hers, smiling.

Cora snorted, laughing, almost inhaling her drink the wrong way. She put it hastily down, chuckling, "You can say that again, Daddy."

Isidore grinned at his little girl, proud of the woman she'd grown into. In many ways Cora favored her mother with her deep blue eyes, slender curves, and her delicate features. She favored the Levinsons with her dark hair, height, and soft voice and manner. Her fine mind she received from both parents, and they did everything they could to nurture both it and her sweet temperament. She went to a college not far from home, and she'd done very well there.

"Princess, when would you want to go on this trip?"

Even though her cheeks were already pink from cold, they reddened slightly more, and she looked down at the hand in her lap. "December first."

Isidore leaned forward now, eyebrows having risen even farther up his forehead. "But that's over Christmas, Cora."

Meeting his eyes, Cora nodded slowly once, her lips pursed slightly.

"You would want to be away for Christmas? New Years?" He shook his head, a trifle confused. "But you love spending the holidays with us. You always help your mother decorate and bake and wrap gifts."

"Daddy," Cora sighed softly, "it's not that I don't want to be here. It's simply that the art history department has seen my work and nominated me for a study abroad program. It happens to take place over Christmas, in England." She shrugged, already knowing what he would ask. "I don't know why it's over the holidays. They do things strangely over there. But I… I want to go, Daddy. I won't get this chance again." She turned her hand over under his, grasping it, her eyes wide as she kept them on his face.

Balancing his cigar on the edge of the ashtray, Isidore took her hand in both of his. "What about Christmas, Princess? How will you spend it? Where?"

She shrugged. "I don't know yet. I'll figure it out later. But I really want to go. Please, Daddy? I won't go unless you say I can."

Isidore sighed deeply, his breath visible in the cold air. He, too, shrugged. "If you really want to go, Cora, I won't stop you." Moving one hand, he touched her face, smiling softly. "But I don't know what I'll do without my princess around here for the holidays."

"I'm just missing one year, Daddy. And I'll call you every day."

"Promise?" At her nod, he pulled away from her and sat back in his chair again, picking up his glass and cigar. "One condition."

"What's that, Daddy?"

"You have to also get your mother's permission." His eyebrows lifted again.

Cora paused, her hand up in the air on its way to her glass. "Fuck."

* * *

><p>Everything seemed to go wrong for Martha as she prepared Thanksgiving dinner. "Why did the caterer not deliver any mashed potatoes? The only thing I have them do is the turkey, the stuffing, and the mashed potatoes! Why can't they do that simple thing? Now I have to make them!" Her voice was nearly a screech and could be heard over the football game.<p>

"Momma!" Cora put out her hands. "Please, calm down. I'll make the potatoes."

"What about the apple pie? You always make apple pie!" Martha darted from counter to counter, moving things around, her red hair flipping wildly.

Flicking another apple peel into the garbage, Cora shifted on her stool. "Momma, you're making coffee nervous right now. And I can do both. Just concentrate on the casseroles and cranberries and I'll make Harold do the rolls."

Martha stopped and laughed, Cora grinning. "Baby, you said that just to calm me down, didn't you? Because you and I both know that he can't make anything – but a good drink."

"Then he'll make the drinks and _I'll_ make the rolls. Just do what you normally do, Momma. I've got the rest." She pushed the apple corer down through the peeled apple, chucking the core and slicing the pieces a bit more before throwing them in the bowl.

"Alright." Martha sighed, then rolled her eyes at the menfolk's yelling at the television. "Music," she said, popping a cd into the kitchen player. Soon she was singing along to "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" while Cora frowned and worked faster.

It wouldn't be easy to convince her mother to let her go away during Christmas.

* * *

><p>"Mother, that was the best yet, I think," said Harold. He let out a loud belch as he sat back in his chair.<p>

"Well, that's a compliment then, since you rarely even comment on dinner, Harold." Martha knocked back the last of her wine and held out her glass for Isidore to refill.

As Harold shrugged and got up to pour himself and his father a postprandial whiskey, Isidore put down the wine bottle and looked at his daughter pointedly. She hadn't said a word about her trip to her mother, so far as he could tell, and it would be better to get it over with, he knew.

Cora drew her brows together, starting to shake her head, but when Isidore turned his head to his wife, his mouth opening, Cora shook her head harder. She had to be the one to tell her mother; it would be much worse if it came from anyone else.

She waited until Harold sat back down, then addressed Martha. "Mother, I need to ask you something."

"What's that, Cora?" She smiled at her daughter. "By the way, I think the potatoes were better than the ones we usually get from the caterer."

"Thank you, Momma." Cora took a deep breath, grateful that her mother appeared relaxed now that they'd gotten through dinner. "I wanted to float an idea by you." She rushed on without waiting for an answer, her eyes fixed on the centerpiece of flowers in fall colors. "As you know, I'm doing well in my art history major, and the department thinks I could go on to do graduate work at some point. But they want me to have some more things on my CV, to help with my application, to set me apart, and there's a study abroad program that's intensive and would let me see famous works all over England, and I really, really want to go." Her eyes finally left the centerpiece and went to her mother's face.

Her expression was hard to read. "When would this be?"

"I would leave December 1st." Cora bit her lip.

Martha's brow furrowed. "And what about your exams?"

"My professors all agreed to let me take them early – or after I return – so I could go."

Isidore watched both of them, and Harold piped up, "England? Why the hell would you ever want to go there?"

"Shut up, Harold. I _want_ to go places and see things. I don't want just to smoke weed and drink and sail yachts and party. I want to see the art I'm studying and learn from people who are experts in the field." She shot her brother a scathing look, then turned her attention back to her mother.

Her red hair bounced as Martha shook her head a bit at her children. "Cora, how much will this cost us?"

"Nothing, Momma. It's also sort of a prize I've won, a fellowship. So the only thing I would need is pocket money. And I have plenty of my own."

"Well, we'll have to upgrade you to first class, at least. I'm sure they won't pay for that." Martha's brows drew together in thought, and Cora started to hope. But her father shook his head and let out a little sigh.

Cora chewed on her lip nervously when she saw her father's expression. And then Martha asked the question that would be the deciding factor.

"So how long is this study anyway? Two weeks? Three?" Taking a sip of her wine, she looked at her daughter questioningly.

"Six," Cora said simply.

Martha sat there a minute, then repeated, "Six? _Six_?" She blinked hard. "Cora Catherine Levinson, are you telling me this program is over Christmas? That you won't be here?"

Letting her eyes fall to her empty dessert plate, Cora nodded. "Yes, Mother." She looked up. "But I still want to go." Her chin protruded defiantly.

"No. No – absolutely not. You are going to be here for Christmas like you always are. And that's the end of it." Martha's eyes flashed. Rarely did she get truly angry, but she was now.

Cora's voice went up half an octave. "But Daddy said –"

Rounding on her husband, Martha inquired, "You thought I would say yes, Isidore? You said yes to her gallivanting across England over the holidays? Our treasured time together?"

"Martha, please, calm down. It's only one time. She should have these opportunities. It's not as if she chose when to go. This is when it's offered. Don't you want her to have this enrichment?" Isidore put a gentle hand on her forearm.

Her mouth set into a hard line. "Why should I have to choose – holidays with my daughter _or_ her enrichment?" She pushed his hand off her arm and stood. "No. You can't go, Cora. That's all."

Cora watched her mother's retreating form, rigid with irritation. Then she turned her eyes to her father.

"I'll go talk to her," he said.

"No, Daddy. Let her calm down first. You know she has to think about it. Let's clean up. She'll be in a better mood if she doesn't come out to a bunch of dirty dishes."

"Leave me some turkey out for a midnight sandwich," Harold drawled, having already topped off his whiskey again, starting to slur. "I'm going to watch more football."

"As if we thought any differently," Isidore muttered, sharing a glance with Cora and rolling his eyes.

Cora couldn't help giggling as she rose and started piling dishes together. She stopped when she felt her father beside her, his hand on her arm like it had been on her mother's earlier.

Isidore's face wore a soft smile. "She'll come around, Princess. She wants what's best for you too. She just doesn't want to give up her special time with you."

"I know, Daddy." Leaning up, she kissed her father's cheek, the end of his mustache tickling her face. "I don't want to either, but I can't let this pass."

Nodding, he smiled wider and picked up the platter with the last of the turkey. "Time to get this dining room and kitchen cleared away. Your mother's going to want to decorate tomorrow." Isidore chuckled and winked, hoping that Martha would change her mind as he said she would. He would hate for Cora to be disappointed.

* * *

><p>Darkness enveloped the living room when Cora stepped into it. It had taken her and Isidore several hours to get everything clean, put away, and ready for their day after Thanksgiving brunch. He'd gone off to bed, and Cora went to see if Harold was still awake, but the television was off, the room unlit.<p>

But a few small lights caught her attention, and she realized that her brother was out on the balcony. Turning on one small light, Cora made herself a whiskey and soda before opening the door and slipping out. The dim light of the heater was more visible once she stepped past it to the edge, standing next to Harold.

Cora coughed a bit. "Jesus, Harold, how strong is that weed?"

She could make out his shrug in the bright lights of the city, and the tip of the joint glowed as he took another hit. "I thought I'd smoke the really good shit – you know, in gratitude. Being Thanksgiving and all."

"Well, I guess I can't deny that logic." Cora rolled her eyes and leaned on the edge of the balcony, looking out at all the Christmas lights already strung up, at the trees visible in windows and even on balconies. She had a long drink of her whiskey.

"Mother will calm down." Harold pushed an elbow into her arm, poking her. "She'll give you what you want. She likes you better than she likes me anyway."

Laughing softly, Cora shook her head, turning it to examine Harold's profile as he exhaled smoke. "Ludicrous. You're the favored elder child, the golden boy who can do no wrong. Well – who can do wrong but is always forgiven."

Harold glanced at her. "I would never want to leave America – what can Europe have that we don't? But you know she'll let you go."

"You sound like Daddy." She moved her eyes to her glass, swirling the liquid around, then tossing her head back to down a good third of it in one gulp.

"He's right, though. But, you know, I get that seeing her angry over it would upset you. Whatever you might say." He offered her the joint. "Here. Have some. It'll make you forget for a while."

Cora peered at him curiously. "Harold, did you stop drinking or something? You're usually not this nice to me. Or this lucid on a holiday evening."

"Shut up, Cora, and take the toke." He laughed. "I've been trying something new."

"Oh god, you've got a girlfriend?" Cora had one drag and coughed.

Patting her on the back, Harold took the joint back and had a drag himself. "Sort of. Don't know if it will work. She thinks I should be 'responsible.'" He rolled his eyes. "I think I'm too young to be responsible yet. But I really like her."

Cora giggled.

"Damn, Cora, it really doesn't take much, does it?" He stubbed out the last of the joint and put the butt in his pocket as his sister finished her drink. "Come on, lightweight. Time for bed." He draped his arm around her shoulders – Cora couldn't remember him ever doing that, but, then again, her head was rather cloudy now – and pulled her into the house.

"You must _really_ like her," Cora said, giggling again.

"Shut up," he repeated, pushing her into her room somewhat roughly.

"You're blushing!" Stumbling slightly, Cora grabbed her dresser and hung on, watching Harold in the doorway. "Harold's got a girlfriend, Harold's got a girlfriend…" she said in a singsong voice.

"I should never have been nice to you. Go to sleep, Cora. Tomorrow it's back to the usual." Harold slammed the door, grumbling all down the hallway.

Cora climbed up into bed, giggling, and wrapped herself into her covers, not even bothering to undress.

She dreamed of London and the British Museum and grand country estates – and art.


	2. My baby's growing up

Day after Thanksgiving, 24 November

The smell of bacon frying woke Cora the next morning. She stretched and realized she still had her clothes on from the day before. Remembering her conversation with Harold, she chuckled and shimmied out of the garments as she walked to her bathroom, then hopped into the shower for a quick wash, not wanting her parents to smell weed in her hair. The rest of the evening came to her as she showered, and, recalling her mother's reaction, she abruptly stopped humming and frowned.

Turning off the water, she sighed. Her mother could be completely stubborn sometimes, and Cora suspected that this would be one of those times, no matter what her father and brother said.

She had to figure out how to act.

"Momma, that smells delicious!" Cora came up behind her mother at the stove to kiss her cheek, then turned to the kitchen cabinets.

"Cora, please set the table before your father eats all the bacon?"

"Martha, I've only had a couple of pieces!" came Isidore's voice from the living room accompanied by the rustle of the newspaper.

Pulling juice and milk out of the refrigerator, Cora laughed lightly. "Daddy and I set the table last night. It's all ready for us. We just need to make another pot of coffee and put food on the table. Do you need any help cooking?" She'd decided to follow her mother's lead this morning.

The red hair swooshed about as Martha shook her head. "No, baby. I am almost done. That fresh pot of coffee sounds good though." She deposited fresh bacon onto a plate already piled with it, then picked up a pot holder to get potatoes out of the oven.

"You've got it, Momma." Cora called into the living room. "Daddy, could you tell Harold to get his fat ass out of bed! Brunch is almost ready!" Spooning coffee into the machine, she shook her head. "Stoner," she murmured.

"I heard that, Cora."

Cora shrugged. "It's not like it's not common knowledge."

It wasn't long before the four were gathered around the table, helping themselves and each other to heaping servings of eggs, bacon, toast, potatoes, and fruit. Cora poured them all coffee, winking at Harold as she did. In answer, Harold rubbed his nose with his middle finger.

Rolling her eyes, Cora sat and ate. "Momma, did you and Daddy bring out all the decorations?"

"Yes. They're waiting for us, and so are the Christmas cds."

"Can we make cookies too?" Cora watched her mother out of the corner of her eye.

"Yes, we can do that."

"Do we have eggnog?"

"We do. Thinking of doctoring it for an after-dinner treat?" Martha glanced at her daughter before biting into a particularly crisp strip of bacon.

"I thought I might."

Isidore spoke up, catching his daughter's eye, apparently in tune with what she was doing. "I don't have rum, Princess, but we've got the good brandy and the expensive bourbon."

Grunting, Harold swallowed down some coffee then coughed out, "Bourbon."

Martha chuckled at this. "That sounds nice, Cora. We can watch old Christmas favorites if that's what the rest of you want. Get into the spirit."

"It's a plan, Momma." Cora grinned and reached over to press her mother's hand warmly.

* * *

><p>The day passed fairly quickly, Martha and Cora decorating, Isidore helping with the lights and mounting the ladder to string garlands and hang mistletoe. Harold sat on the balcony, trying to steer clear of the merriment – and talking on his phone. Anytime Cora passed him, she would tease him about his "girlfriend," and Harold would pinch her or flip her the bird, depending upon how close she was, giving her a dirty look.<p>

By the time they'd decided on a late dinner – Chinese take-out they sent Harold to pick up – the apartment looked utterly festive. It smelled of greenery and spices (helped by scented candles), as well as cookies. White lights shone from the tree, the balcony railing, and from where Cora had twisted a strand into each garland over every doorway. The three set the table, finishing just as Harold bounded into the room, laden with bags.

"Harold, do you mind pouring drinks?" Martha asked as she set the cartons out on the table.

"Sure, Mother."

They sat down to dinner, and Cora attempted not to read too much into the fact that her mother had not made one mention of the trip to England all day. In fact, she'd acted as if the question had never been asked. As the day had gone on, the number of nervous looks Cora exchanged with her father increased. And after dinner had passed without anything, she began to despair.

"Princess, Mother's picking the movies; I'll bring you the booze!"

"Okay, Daddy!" Cora called out from the kitchen as she extricated the smallish punch bowl from a cabinet and turned to get the eggnog.

Isidore found her shoulders bent, her head bowed, and her hand on the handle of the refrigerator. "Cora?" He put his hand on one of her shoulders.

"She's not going to let me go, is she?" Cora whispered, wiping a tear away from her cheek.

The father's heart in him surged up. "Please, don't think that way, Princess." Isidore put down the bottle of bourbon and sidled around to pull her into a tight embrace. "You know your mother wants what's best for you. She'll come around."

"In time for me to actually get everything done before the trip?" She whimpered the question into his collar bone.

He hazarded a soft chuckle. "The benefit of being as wealthy as we are is that we can get things done faster than most people. Don't you worry about that, Cora."

Cora heaved a deep sigh. "I want to go. I want to do things, see things…."

"I know." Taking her chin in his hand, Isidore lifted her head so she could see his serious expression. "Give her time. And let me talk to her. She just…." He heaved a deep sigh, his heart in his eyes. "She just doesn't want to let go of her little girl."

"Nor do you, Daddy, do you?" A tiny smile formed on Cora's face.

Isidore's expression continued to be completely serious. "No. But I know I must, some day."

At that, Cora let out a long, shuddering breath, tears coming to her eyes again. "I hope you know I'll always – always – be your little girl, Daddy. Don't you?"

"Yes, Princess." He reached up and ran his thumb along the tracks her tears made on her cheeks now. Smile, he whispered, "I do know that. Come hell or high water."

"Come hell or high water," she repeated in a whisper.

After a moment or two, Isidore rubbed Cora's back with his other hand. "What about this eggnog then? Do you think the English have this tradition too or no?"

This made her chuckle. "I don't know. I suppose I'll find out, won't I?" She poured the eggnog into the bowl, along with a generous amount of bourbon.

Isidore twitched a ladle out of a drawer and handed it to her before picking up the punch bowl. "So it will be an anthropological or societal case study along with being art history, eh?" He chuckled. "Grab the tray of glasses, will you, Princess?"

"Of course, Daddy," she said, smiling, feeling much better for having had their chat. Leaning up to kiss his cheek, she gazed at him an adoration. "Thank you," she said in a whisper, taking the tray and preceding him into the living room. "Eggnog!" she sang out, nearly laughing aloud at how Harold dived for the punch bowl.

"Christmas movies are all ready!" Martha sang out, patting the couch beside her, looking at her daughter.

Cora sat next to her mother, reaching up to put her arms around her neck and pressing a kiss to her cheek too. "I love you, Momma," she said softly.

Martha seemed a little caught off guard, but she smiled, slipping her arms around her daughter's waist. "I love you too, Cora."

* * *

><p>When Cora woke it was the early hours, and she lifted her head from her mother's shoulder, yawning.<p>

"Good morning, sleepy head," Martha whispered as she stroked Cora's hair.

"What time is it?" Rubbing her eyes, Cora yawned.

"Early. Don't worry about the time." She encouraged her daughter to rest her head back down. "We fell asleep watching movies last night. I woke only a little bit ago."

Cora snuggled up to her mother and sighed, of two minds about whether she should bring up her study abroad or not.

Before she could decide, however, her mother saved her the trouble. "Cora, I've been thinking about this trip of yours."

Nodding against Martha's shoulder, Cora held her breath and stayed silent.

Martha let out a long exhale, continuing. "I think you should go."

Her head whipped up so she could look her mother in the eye. "You do? I can go?"

"I don't like having you away for the holidays, but I know that you'll miss us as much as we'll miss you." She stroked her daughter's cheek and smiled sadly. "It won't be the same."

"I know, Momma. But I really want to go," she whispered, tears in her eyes.

"I realize that you do. And I appreciate you giving me the time to think about it without bringing it up again." She cupped Cora's face and kissed her forehead.

"Thank you, Momma. Very much."

Pulling her hands away, Martha waved toward the hallway. "Go on now, get some more sleep. We have a lot to do today if we're going to have you ready for the first."

Cora grinned widely and stood, kissing her mother's cheek. "You get some sleep too."

"I will. I'm going to nap right here." Martha stretched out on the couch, dragging a blanket from the back of it on top of her. "I want to look at the lights a bit longer."

"Thank you again, Momma."

"You're welcome, Cora," Martha said as her buoyant daughter sashayed down the hallway. Then, staring at the lit Christmas tree, she murmured, "My baby's growing up."

* * *

><p>The next several days were a whirlwind of activity, getting Cora ready for her trip, upgrading her flight, making sure her exams and end-of-semester papers were finished, and getting some family time in before the big day. Martha even had a big, spur of the moment going away party on the evening before her daughter's departure, complete with the special bourbon eggnog, trays of Cora's favorite foods, and Christmas carol karaoke. Martha and Isidore sang a duet of "Baby, It's Cold Outside," Cora did a spirited rendition of "Winter Wonderland," and Harold… well, Harold ended up stoned and singing the Grinch song. It was a hit.<p>

To Cora's surprise all three of them accompanied her to the airport. Granted, Harold did try to slip a joint into her carry-on, earning a clip to the back of the head from his mother when she caught him. But, without too much trouble otherwise, the four said their goodbyes, and Cora made her way through security.

The plane ride was uneventful, albeit long. Used to traveling, the length of the trip didn't affect Cora adversely; she'd brought plenty of art magazines, and enjoyed several tipples and naps in her comfortable seat. Nonetheless, she breathed a sigh of relief when the plane touched down. She really wanted a hot shower and a warm bed.

Dragging her wheeled carry on behind her, Cora made her way to baggage claim to pick up her suitcase. As she stood there, she noticed a dark haired man, tall and lanky, eyeing her up. Coloring slightly, she turned away, gaze fixed to the slowly turning baggage carousel. Once she'd retrieved her bag, she proceeded to the arrivals area, where she was to meet her ride to Oxford. Realizing that the dark haired man waited there, she started. Then, she saw the sign that he held. It had her name written on it.

When her eyes lifted to his face again, he smiled widely. "You're Ms. Levinson, aren't you? Cora Levinson?"

Cora smiled in return, hers a much smaller, shier smile. "I am." She nodded.

The smile warmed his eyes, despite their being an incredible shade of ice blue. "I'm very glad to hear it. I thought that might be you. I do apologize if I was staring before. But I do feel as if I know you already through your messages over the past few days."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you –" she paused, moving her hand from her carry on so she could extend it to him, realizing he'd not yet said his name.

Tucking the sign under an arm, the man took her hand in both of his, wringing it gently. "Simon," he said. "Simon Bricker."


	3. My mother wouldn't approve

The next couple of weeks passed by in a blur of activity – most of it with Simon Bricker in tow. Cora felt like a member of aristocracy with some butler or footman attending her at all hours. She did make him go home in the evenings, but most days were spent with him very close underfoot. She was surprised she hadn't tripped over him yet.

Not that she wasn't grateful to him. He knew a great deal about art, and they spent much of their time together discussing it, viewing it, and deciding where to go next. Simon also asked her about her home life, her family, New York and Newport. She attempted to reciprocate, to ask him about himself, but he tended to shrug and shake his head, insisting that his own life would make for very uninteresting talk, disclosing little. Cora didn't want to press him; sometimes people had things in their lives they would rather not discuss. So she talked about herself when he asked – otherwise, they stuck to travel, art, and their itinerary.

And they went everywhere, including spending several days in London, which she would admit she loved. Simon made it clear that he was interested in her, but Cora… well, she couldn't see encouraging him.

Not while Robert Crawley was in the world.

On the days they weren't traveling and seeing things, Cora and Simon spent time at Oxford, attending some of the classes her supervising professor taught. In one of them, a basic introduction to art history, she'd noticed a tall, dark haired young man with sparkling blue eyes and a slightly crooked, good-natured smile. The way he carried himself she could only call aristocratic. He had a perfectly beautiful high forehead and round cheeks and a chin she wanted to kiss. She couldn't remember being so smitten with a boy just from how he looked.

But it wasn't only that. Professor Arundel tended to call on students in the class to answer questions, and when Cora heard the musical tones of Robert's voice, his polished accent, she thought she'd swoon then and there.

Head over heels. She tried to control this – what she put down to hormones, a mere infatuation, a harmless crush – but, crush or not, she had fallen head over heels already. For a man she barely knew. Because of this, she did something she wouldn't normally have done.

The second week, during the second introduction class that she attended, Mr. Crawley (as he was called by the professor) proudly responded to a question with a wrong answer, his face flushing slightly after he realized he'd made a mistake. Timidly, Cora offered the correct answer, earning her a first real look from this beautiful young man.

He didn't seem exactly happy to have been shown up.

After class Cora eluded Simon, leaving him to speak to Professor Arundel, and approached Robert. "I – um – hello. I don't think we've met," she began, nerves making her voice tremble.

Robert stuck his book into his leather bag and stared at her extended hand, evidently bewildered. "Er, no. We haven't."

"You're Robert Crawley, aren't you?" She let her hand fall to her side, a faint blush rising in her face.

"I am. And you're the exchange student?" His eyebrows lifted, even as his eyes shifted from her to the doorway.

Cora's heart fell. "Yes. Well, study abroad student. Cora Levinson. Um – I do apologize if this is in any way offensive to you, Robert," she continued hurriedly, seeing how uninterested he was in speaking to her, "but I thought that if you were having trouble in the class that you might want to study for your exam with me?"

His eyes shifting back to her face, his brows rose even higher on his head. "You think I can't study for this exam on my own?"

Sighing, she looked down at her hands in front of her. "I really didn't mean to offend. I simply thought it might be nicer to study with someone."

"I will –" Robert began, but was interrupted by the professor, who raised his voice to the entire room.

"Attention! I have been informed that many of you would like to gather for a drink or some such thing, but I'm not sure where might be the best place for it."

Closing her eyes briefly, Cora opened them again as she turned and piped up before anyone else could, "I would be happy for everyone to come to my flat. You are all welcome. There is plenty of room and drinks and food. Please – I'd like that very much."

Simon blinked at her even as Robert did the same.

"Thank you, Ms. Levinson," Professor Arundel said. "Your flat is walking distance, correct?" At her nod, he replied, "Lead the way!"

Amid excited banter and the sounds of students picking up their school bags, Simon maneuvered his way to Cora and took her elbow, steering her from Robert and to the door of the classroom. She sent a wistful look back toward the beautiful boy who'd already entered into conversation with one of his mates, sparing no look for her. As they all made their way to her flat, following her and Simon, she realized that one of the voices directly behind her was Robert's, and, if she listened carefully, she could hear what he said. Shushing Simon, she did just that.

"Mate, you caught the eye of that adorable American bird!" said his friend.

Robert's voice was flat. "I suppose. You know my mother wouldn't approve."

"So? Bloody hell, Robert, not everything has to end in marriage or even meeting your mother. The girl will be gone in a few weeks – why not indulge yourself?"

"Stop that. I'm not here just to indulge myself." Cora could hear his voice replete with disgust at the suggestion, and she couldn't decide whether this made her despair or not. "I have responsibilities. Something you obviously don't understand."

The conversation behind her abruptly ended when she got to her door, shaking Simon's hand off her arm so she could unlock it.

"Everyone is welcome to anything in the kitchen or the bar," she announced when she turned to the others. Slipping into the door, she left it open wide as she went to close her bedroom door, not wanting anyone to enter it.

Professor Arundel sidled up to her as the others poured drinks and opened bags of chips. "Ms. Levinson, I thought the program provided living arrangements? This is _not_ what they usually provide. This is… almost opulent."

Cora hesitated. What could she say? She heard her mother's voice in her head from when she'd seen internet pictures of the "accommodations": "Cora Catherine! There is no way I'm letting you live in a shoebox of a room for six weeks! Your father and I are going to come up with something much better, and I don't want you to object! No way in hell is _my_ daughter going to live _there_!" Martha had promptly contacted friends of theirs in Oxford, friends who had a beautiful flat and tended to go to France for two months in the winter to visit their children abroad for the holidays.

"Friends of the family, professor," Cora said simply by way of explanation. "They insisted I use their flat." She smiled and flourished a hand to the bar. "You should have some refreshment, sir."

"So I shall." He made as if to go, then paused, putting one hand on her forearm in a fatherly fashion. "I want to say how well you've done, Ms. Levinson. Your papers have been top notch, and I can tell you're keen on the subject. My teaching assistant, Mr. Bricker, has nothing but praise for your performance."

Blushing again, Cora lowered her lashes. "Thank you, Professor Arundel. I can't express how grateful I am for the opportunity."

"Yes, well, you deserve it." With a smile, the professor left to pour himself a drink, joining the students in merry chatter.

Before she could join the others, Simon walked up with a drink in each hand. "I brought you a rum and coke," he said. "I remember you said you liked those." He smiled his handsome smile at her, but Cora's eyes strayed to where Robert and his mates drank Scotch in a corner.

"I do. Thank you, Simon." She took it, but didn't drink. "Shouldn't you mingle? You spend so much time with me; your students will appreciate your attention for a while." Cora's expression was one of mild interest.

"Oh, I suppose so. Let me know if I can do or get anything for you, Cora, alright?"

"Yes, of course." She smiled softly, then grimaced slightly when he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Watching him walk away, she shook her head, then fixed her eyes on Robert. His smile made her knees weak. And when his eye caught hers, the smile still on his face, Cora thought her knees might actually buckle as she sucked in a hot breath. She sat, putting the drink Simon had brought her on an end table.

Cora sat in the same place most of the evening, various students sitting with her and talking for a while. For hours, she conversed, one eye always on Robert. Eventually he wandered her way and sat next to her.

Robert offered her a glass. "It's soda water." He sipped at his Scotch. "I want to apologize if I seemed rude earlier. I – I'm not used to doing so poorly in a subject, and your offer of help rankled me. It's not your fault."

With a smile, Cora drank some of the fizzy liquid. "It's quite alright, Robert."

"No, well, it's not alright. There's no excuse for my displaying poor manners. Particularly in light of your gracious offer of your time and patience with a dullard."

"I don't think you're a dullard," Cora said, chuckling, relaxing beside him. "I simply think you need some one on one attention with this subject area." She watched him sip and nod. "What are you studying here?"

"The classics," he answered, looking down in his glass as he held it between his knees, his elbows on his thighs.

Cora drained the glass and put it aside. "That sounds interesting."

Robert shrugged. "To me at least." He glanced up at her, the flush returning to his cheeks. "_Would_ you help me, Cora?"

It was the first time he'd said her name, and Cora thought she'd melt from the way he said it. She smiled brightly. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean to. Would you like to meet here tomorrow at nine am? We can spend a few hours studying and then…." She hesitated, taking a deep breath. "Then perhaps we could have some lunch?"

"I'm supposed to have lunch with my sister tomorrow. But we can study until then. I don't have to meet her until one." He grinned at her, a genuine grin.

Cora's heart skipped a beat. She tried not to bite her lip or breathe too hard. But he sat so close and smelled so good, it was hard to breathe normally. "Yes, come knock on my door at nine. I'll be ready."

"Thank you, Cora. I'll be here." He looked at the clock. "If I'm to do that, I should go get some sleep. It's nearly midnight already."

"Goodness, it is, isn't it?" Cora glanced at the clock incredulously. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow," he said with a curt nod and slight smile at her.

Cora watched him walk away, trying to keep her thoughts about his tight ass out of her head, but unable to do so.

In Robert's wake, people drifted out of the flat, leaving her and Simon alone.

"One more drink, Simon?" Cora asked good-naturedly, opening her computer.

"One more, yes," he said, pouring them each one and handing her a glass.

"Thank you." She put the glass aside as Simon sat next to her on the couch. "I hope you don't mind," she said, "but my mother talks to me every night around this time."

Simon opened his mouth to respond, but a noise interrupted.

"There she is now…." Cora clicked on the word to accept the Skype call. "Hi, Momma!"

"Baby, how are you?" Martha's grinning face reflected Cora's.

"I'm doing well. A bit tired, but I've had people over tonight." Cora glanced at Simon out of the corner of her eye. He sat quietly, sipping his drink, watching the bit of the computer screen he could see. She didn't care if he heard the conversation – it was usually fairly tame. Tame being a relative term, since it involved her mother.

"You had people over? What people?"

"Oh, some students from one of the art history classes. They wanted to get together for drinks or something, so I volunteered this place. And they were very well-behaved." She chuckled.

Martha laughed. "I'm glad to hear that, since that apartment isn't yours. Oh wait –" Tilting her head, she squinted her eyes. "Fuck. Your father is calling something down the hallway, and I can't tell what he's saying. Be right back, Cora?"

"Sure, Momma," she said, watching her mother move out of the frame as she yelled up the hallway.

Turning her head, she smiled a bit at Simon, who smiled back, waiting patiently, sipping his drink.

"Yo!"

The voice startled her. The screen now showed her brother. "Hey!"

"Mother's got to help Dad with something. So I thought I'd see what you're getting into."

Cora giggled. "Nothing, really. Just studying the art, Harold."

"Ha – likely story." He shook his head. "Bang any Brits yet, sis?"

From beside her Cora heard a choking noise, then coughing. "Okay there, Simon?" He nodded, still coughing, his hand held to his mouth as he looked at her.

"Who's that?" Harold asked.

"It's Simon. He's the teaching assistant for my supervising professor here. Grad student." She shifted the computer over a little so Harold could see. "Say hi to my stoner brother. And don't mind what he says. He's joking."

"No, I'm not," he insisted while Simon waved with his free hand, finally having stopped coughing and now wiping at the moisture gathered in the corners in his eyes. "Trying to get rid of her for good. And if she bangs a Brit she might stay over there."

"Harold!" she squeaked out, half amused and half mortified, swiveling the screen back to herself. "Don't say things like that! And what happened to you being nice to me?"

Her brother rolled his eyes. "That went out the window when I decided to dump Kristin."

"I thought you really liked her. You said so, Harold." Cora's brow furrowed.

"Yeah, well, she still thought I needed to be responsible." His eyes darted to the side; Cora knew this was how he acted when he wanted to be evasive.

"Oh, don't stop there, super stoner." She shook her head. "There is no way that's all. Give me the rest of the story." Crossing her arms, she waited, forgetting Simon was even there.

Harold grimaced and hesitated, but eventually mumbled. "Well, she likes to ride horses, right? So I got her some Christmas gifts –"

"You got her gifts? You never do that!" Cora interrupted, her eyes wide.

"Exactly!" he said, his voice becoming clearer. "I got her several things, including a fancy new riding crop."

"Um-hmm." She nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"She called me a pervert, walked out, and won't speak to me anymore! She won't even let me explain!" His sigh made Cora frown. She could tell he was more upset than he would ever let on. "That's the trouble with having parents who are sex therapists. Everyone thinks you're into some kinky shit."

"Uh, I hesitate to point out that it sounds like – you know – she dumped you." Cora chewed on her lip.

"Way to rub salt in the wounds, sis. Thanks." Looking behind him, he nodded. "And on that note, I'm off to smoke the good stuff. Later, Cor." He stood, waving awkwardly as Martha took his seat.

"Nice talk?" Martha asked. Without waiting for an answer, she launched into a story of how Isidore had gotten himself tangled in some new Christmas lights and needed her to extricate him.

After a while, Cora began yawning, the lateness of the hour beginning to catch up with her.

"Oh, here I am prattling on, and you should get some sleep. I forget how much later it is there sometimes. I'm sorry, baby." Martha sighed. "I miss you, Cora."

"I miss you too, Momma. But I'll talk to you again tomorrow night." Blowing a kiss at the screen, she smiled. "Give Daddy a kiss for me too."

"Okay. And he'll want to talk to you tomorrow. He just wanted to get those lights up tonight. I'll send you pictures."

"Yes, I want to see. Goodnight, Momma. I love you."

"Goodnight, Cora. I love you too. Sweet dreams." She, too, blew a kiss at the screen before signing off.

Cora yawned again, closing her computer and stretching. She nearly laughed aloud to see Simon curled into a corner of the couch, his arms wrapped around himself. Shaking him gently by the shoulder, she whispered, "Simon? Simon, don't you want to go home?"

He mumbled something unintelligible and hugged himself tighter, barely opening his eyes.

Chuckling, Cora crossed the room to a chair, picking up a blanket and crossing back with it. "I suppose you're staying here tonight. Take your shoes off at least, and you can stretch out on the couch."

Simon blinked hard, trying to stay awake long enough to shove his shoes off his feet and swing his legs up on the cushions. As Cora spread the blanket out over him, he fixed his eyes on her face long enough to murmur, "Your parents are sex therapists?"

Cora laughed. "Yes. I usually leave that detail out, though. It can be an embarrassing conversation."

"Hmmm," he hummed in assent, his eyes closing again, falling fast asleep.

Turning out the lights and walking to her room, Cora smiled to herself. Not about the man sleeping on her couch – truth be told, she didn't have another thought about him after she'd tucked him up.

Robert would be there tomorrow. The smile grew wider as she changed into her night clothes and got into bed, snuggling down into the blankets.

"Robert," she whispered. When she closed her eyes the image dancing before them was of his slightly crooked smile and bright blue eyes. She, too, fell asleep, his name upon her lips.


	4. What are friends for?

A knock came at the door, and Cora glanced toward the couch where Simon rolled over with a grunt. She wanted to laugh at the same time that she wanted to kick him out on his ass.

Doing up one last button on her blouse, Cora opened the door just enough to grin at Robert. "Right on time," she whispered.

Immediately, Robert's brow furrowed. "Why are we whispering?" he asked in a low voice.

"Um… someone had quite a lot to drink last night, and I didn't trust that he could find his way home." Looking down, she stepped aside to let him in.

Glancing past her, Robert shook his head. "Mr. Bricker. I should have known," he muttered. He came in and took off his coat while she closed and locked the door.

"We can study in my room. I have a table in there that's big enough. That way we don't disturb him." She blushed, somewhat confused at the almost blustering expression on Robert's face.

He nodded in ascent, and she walked down the hallway, letting him into her room. Robert extricated his textbook and notebook from his bag, and Cora sat next to him so she could see his notes. For a couple of hours, they sat and studied, Robert asking questions and Cora answering them in a way he understood better than he ever understood Professor Arundel.

After a while Cora could tell they were both flagging. She turned to him.

"Would you like anything? Coffee? Tea? Juice?"

"A cup of tea would be nice," Robert replied.

Smiling, Cora said, "I'll be back in just a moment then."

Heart pounding, she went into the kitchen area, getting out the tea things as quietly as possible. She wondered what Robert thought of her – if he thought anything. Still, she thought of that blustery look from before….

The sound of the kettle broke her out of her reverie as she took it off hastily to pour the boiling water into cups. Her tea wasn't exactly wonderful, but it would do in a pinch, she wagered. Normally she would drink coffee, but she wanted him to feel like he wasn't putting her out by asking for something different.

Robert sat there, waiting for Cora to come back with tea, conflicted. Why shouldn't Cora do as she liked – or _who_ she liked – in her own flat? He only knew that it gave him a jolt to the pit of his stomach. Had she gotten under his skin – already? Shaking his head as if to shake off his thoughts, he looked up with a slight smile as Cora entered with a tray. He stood quickly, grabbing the tray from her, and she closed the door as he put it down on the small table.

"Simon still out there?" he blurted out without thinking, pouring the tea for the two of them.

Cora peered at him curiously. "Yes. I think he should sleep off the hangover if he can." She lowered her eyes. "Robert?

"Yes?" He tipped a generous spoonful of sugar into his tea and stirred it.

"You said something before, like you should have known that Simon was here." When he made no reply, she asked, "Why did you say that?"

Robert half rolled his eyes. "The man hangs about you all the time. It's obvious he's smitten with you. It's the next logical step, right? His being here in the morning after being here all night." His eyes fastened on hers.

The blue spark that flared there took him by surprise. "Robert Crawley, just because he's here does not mean that he slept anywhere but on the sofa. And it doesn't mean that I care a thing about him beyond gratitude for his generous help and the fact that we share an appreciation for art." Blood suffused her face as she realized she was basically yelling at the man with whom _she_ was smitten. But she couldn't have him thinking ill of her. "I have no feelings for Simon Bricker, and I won't have you think something's going on just because I did a good deed in letting him stay here last night." She stuck out her chin, hands tight around her tea cup.

Blinking, Robert opened and closed his mouth several times in slight embarrassment before managing to say softly. "I do apologize. If you'd like me to go, I will." His cheeks wore a faint flush.

Cora sighed. "No, don't go. I apologi—"

"For what?" Robert interrupted, his brow furrowed. "I was rude and probably deserved a dressing down. I shouldn't assume such things." He looked away. "I often get the wrong end of things," he muttered. It was something he didn't often admit.

Her expression softened, and she tried changing the subject. "When do you go home for the holidays? Where is home?"

Robert smiled, sighing inwardly, relieved that she didn't seem mad at him. "After the exams are over. A few more days. We have a country house in Yorkshire. I'll go there. My sister and I. She lives in London."

"And this is your last year of school?" She sipped her tea, hoping to prolong the conversation, to learn more about him.

Nodding, he took one of the tea biscuits off the tray. "I major in classics, and I wish I didn't have to take this art history class." He grinned in spite of himself. "Although it's turned out better than I expected."

"Oh?" Cora's eyebrows lifted, the slightly flirtatious comment unexpected.

"Well, I did get all this help for my exam." Robert gave a small cough, as if to clear his throat, color rising on his cheeks again. "And I should probably go. I've taken enough of your time."

Stifling a sigh, Cora inclined her head in assent. "Yes, and you have to meet your sister in a while for lunch. What's her name?"

He looked up from packing his things back into his bag. "Rosamund."

"It's a pretty name." She smiled at him, preceding him to the door of her bedroom, then the door of the flat. "I suppose I won't see you again, will I?" The thought about knocked the breath out of her.

Robert tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "I suppose not. But thank you, Cora." He spoke in a low voice and reached out to take her hand, pressing it. "I may actually pass now." And with a last grin, he turned and left.

The sigh Cora had kept tamped down rose now and escaped her lips with great force as she watched him walk away. She finally closed the door and turned to lean back against it.

"Cora?" Simon sat up and rubbed his eyes, then clutched his head. "God, how much did I have last night?"

"I lost count," Cora threw out at him, moving to get a glass of water and some paracetamol from the kitchen. She came back and handed these to the man squinting on her couch. "You should have this."

"Thanks," he said, obviously missing her tone from before. He knocked back the pills and swallowed a generous amount of the water. "And thanks for letting me stay here. I'm not sure I could have made it home."

"Not like that you couldn't," she muttered, trying not to take her feelings out on Simon. Taking a deep breath, she started folding the blankets he'd used. "I couldn't have you try. I would have felt responsible if something had happened to you."

Simon nodded, finishing the water. He smiled widely at her. "Well, I'm safe because of you." Putting down the glass, he rubbed his eyes hard. "What time is it? My contact lenses are all fuzzy from sleeping in them."

Cora glanced over her shoulder at the clock. "A little after noon. There is some lens solution in the bathroom if you want to wash them off. Then I think you should get on home. It's getting late."

Heaving himself off the couch, Simon almost tripped over his own shoes sitting there by the end, but made it to the bathroom. Cora listened for the door to close, then mumbled under her breath to herself, cleaning up the glasses and other items from the party last night, not having gotten the chance before with a man sleeping on her couch.

The room was cleaned up by the time Simon returned, pushing his hair back with his fingers. "Wasn't there supposed to be someone coming by today? Some student?"

"Robert?" At his nod, she shook her head. "He's already come and gone. I think I helped him, though." She avoided Simon's gaze.

"Well, then maybe we should order something in and go over our plans for the next week. We're going to be doing quite a lot of traveling, since the term is over, so—"

"Simon, please?" Cora's interruption – and its tone – caught him off guard to tell by his visage. "Can we not do that today? I'd like to take a breather. And I'm sure you have things to grade… or, something." All she wanted to do was to curl up on the couch with a pint of ice cream and a sad movie.

"But, Cora—"

This time they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Cora pursed her lips, then crossed to the door to open it. Her mouth fell open. "Robert? But, you said…."

Robert grinned, shuffling one foot on the snowy door mat. "Yeah, but Rosamund rung me just a while ago and said she couldn't make it, so I thought that maybe—" The sight of Simon coming up behind Cora made him stop. "Oh, but perhaps you already have plans."

Cora looked at his downcast eyes and bit the inside of her lip. "No, no I don't have plans," she said clearly, so that both men could hear her. "Simon was just leaving." Turning, she put one hand on her hip, opening the door wider so Robert could come in if he wanted. "Weren't you, Simon?" She said pointedly, her brows sternly pulled together.

Sitting back on the couch, Simon fumbled with his shoes. "But, Cora—" he said again, sounding slightly desperate now.

"Bricker," came Robert's voice from where he stood inside the closed doorway. "If a lady tells you to go, you go. Otherwise you're a cad." His word might have made Cora giggle in any other context, but she could see his expression was dangerous.

Simon's Adam's apple rose and fell visibly in a swallow. He silently nodded, collected his coat, mumbled a thanks to Cora for letting him spend the night on her couch, and ducked out the door.

When he'd gone, Cora slumped onto the couch with a long sigh. "Thanks for that, Robert. You didn't have to, but, well, thanks." She gave him a small, tired smile.

Robert inclined his head. "You're welcome. What are friends for?" He went to the bank of hooks by the door and lifted off her scarf and coat from the day before, hoping he wouldn't be told to put them back. "Now, how about that lunch?"

Cora's small smile transformed into a wide grin, mirroring his. "I'd like that. Very much. Let's go."

* * *

><p>The pub just down the road seemed a strange choice to Cora at first, but soon she settled into its homey feel and the better than average food. After a pint – not of ice cream this time, but of beer – and some starters, Cora began to relax. Not beer buzz relaxed, but completely comfortable in the atmosphere. And the company.<p>

"I didn't really know about this place," she said. "I like it, though."

Robert tilted his head at her, sipping Scotch. "No? I should think you would, being only a bit from your flat."

Cora laughed, and Robert's breath almost hitched at the uninhibited, lovely sound. "No," she replied, shaking her head. "Simon is always taking me all over, and I really don't even know my own neighborhood that well." She grinned at him. "Thanks for bringing me here. I do like it. Reminds me of some out of the way places in Manhattan."

"Really?" He waved a man over to take her empty mug and fill it again. "There are some places like this in London too."

"Have you been to New York?" She nodded a thanks to the man bringing her a fresh pint and sipped it happily.

"No." Chuckling, he picked up a chip and ate it. "Mama would hate it."

She grinned at him over the top of her mug. "You should come sometime, Robert. Your mother need not have to come with you. You're not a child, right?" Realizing she was close to smirking, Cora's eyes lowered to the table.

"You're right, Cora. I'm not a child." He paused, keeping his eyes on her face and meeting hers as her eyelids rose again, and waited for the server to put their meals on the table.

The statement hung in the air between them for a few moments, until Cora broke the gaze, looking down and picking up her fork, saying, "This smells so good, Robert."

"It _is_ good," he insisted, falling silent while they tucked in. After he saw she'd eaten a fair amount of her food, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and raised his eyes to her face. "So. Do you have Christmas plans? I can't imagine you would go home and come back, since you're here for a little longer, right?"

Cora nodded and applied her napkin to the corners of her mouth. "Right, I'm not going home. My mother about flipped that it would be over the holidays and was close to not letting me go on this trip." She laughed again, making Robert's stomach feel funny. "And, no. I don't have plans. Not sure what to do or where." She smiled at him, putting another forkful of food into her mouth.

Robert coughed a little. "Well, uh, I haven't run it past my mother yet, and I don't know how comfortable you would feel in a stranger's house with his family, but I know Rosamund has brought people home before, and it should be alright…."

A wide grin broke out on Cora's face as Robert worried the corner of the table cloth, his eyes glued to it as he rambled on. Her heartbeat sped up as he continued.

"…I would hate for a friend to be alone on Christmas, especially one who helped me so much with my studies, so, maybe, would you consider…?" He looked up, smiling shyly.

Cora raised her eyebrows. "Consider…? You haven't really asked me anything, Robert." She stifled a giggle.

He let out a breath and grinned. "I thought you could come spend Christmas with us. You could come up the 23rd and, well, stay as long as you like."

"As a friend?" she asked, teasing him.

Robert didn't realize this. "Yes, of course. As a friend. And you don't have to worry about Rosamund or Papa. Even as little as I know you, I can tell they'll like you. So will Aunt Josephine, I think." He kept beaming.

"And your mother?" She chuckled, going back to eating.

Shrugging, Robert took a long drink of Scotch. "Maybe we can get her drunk."

Throwing her head back, Cora laughed hard. "I accept." She grinned at him and leaned forward, cheeks pink. "I would love to have Christmas with you and your family, Robert."


End file.
